“Burt interviewed just about everyone in Penny Gate. Jack’s uncle Hal is in here, so is a Deputy Sheriff Gilmore and his wife, Delia. The priest, the coroner, even the mayor.”
“Wow, that is really thorough,” Sarah said, impressed. The case file didn’t have that many interviews.
“Burt is a great reporter. He really knows how to get people to talk to him, trust him. He could also be the most ethical journalist I’ve met. He never included something in an article just because it was shocking or would sell papers. He could get to the heart of a story, but made sure that he included facts, not idle gossip.”
“So Burt doesn’t think that Jack’s dad did it?”
“Like I said, most folks were shocked that John Tierney was the main suspect. At first, some thought it was a crazed drifter, though no one reported any strangers in the area around that time. Then they discovered John had disappeared and the general consensus was that he had to be the one who did it.”
“Listen, Gabe,” she said, putting the call on speakerphone, shifting the car into gear and pulling out of the parking lot and into the road. “I know that Jack was a suspect at one point. I heard the taped interview Gilmore had with him. Nothing in this file could be worse than listening to that.”
Still, Gabe hesitated before speaking. “Several people that Burt interviewed mentioned Jack as a possible suspect. At fifteen he was getting into all kinds of trouble. He hung out with an older crowd, was running around town, drinking and raising hell. A few people, though, said that Jack could be pretty aggressive. Got into quite a few bang-up fights at school.” Before today she would have said that this didn’t sound like Jack at all. “There was one person who told Burt that Jack had once even struck Lydia.”
“I heard about that,” Sarah said softly. “Is there anything else?”
Gabe didn’t answer. “There’s more, but I think you should probably just read Burt’s notes.”
“Gabe,” Sarah said impatiently, “just tell me.”
Gabe expelled a long breath. “Burt had a source that said Jack threatened to kill his parents. Over some girl. Said if they didn’t leave them alone, he was going to kill them.”
“Who? Who said that?” Sarah demanded.
“It was Jack’s aunt. Julia Quinlan.”
“I’m having a hard time believing Julia would say that about Jack,” Sarah said as she left Penny Gate and turned onto the quiet rural highway. “Why would she take him into her home, if she thought he was capable of violence, of hitting his own mother, let alone murdering her?”
“She never actually said she thought Jack was the murderer,” Gabe pointed out. “Just that he had a temper, that she had seen it a time or two.”
“Still, why would she bring this up to a reporter of all people? I didn’t see anything about this in any of the police reports I looked through.”
“She made Burt promise to keep everything she said about Jack off the record. That the boy had been through too much, but she wanted someone to know what had happened just in case.”
“In case what?” Sarah asked. She tried to keep her eyes focused on the road in front of her, but something caught her eye in the rearview window. “That makes no sense whatsoever,” Sarah finally said. “Unless Julia thought there might be some other evidence to show that Jack could have...” She couldn’t bring herself to say the words.
“Sarah, I’m so sorry. I thought I was helping. I didn’t mean to upset you or suggest that I think Jack had anything to do with his mother’s death. I just thought you would want all the information.”
“Thank you,” she said, her eyes still flicking back and forth from the quiet country road to the rearview mirror. “I’m the one who called you. I asked for your help and I appreciate it. I just can’t believe Julia would ever have allowed him to move into her home if she thought he was a murderer.”
“You could be right. Besides, whoever wanted Lydia Tierney dead had been planning it for quite a while,” Gabe said. “It wasn’t just a heat-of-the-moment murder.”
“What do you mean?” Sarah asked. All along she had thought that Lydia’s murder was due to an angry interaction that ended violently, and now Gabe was telling her otherwise.
Suddenly, from behind her, a vehicle appeared. Its headlights shone brightly through the rear window, causing her to squint against the light. “Gabe, I’ve got to go.”
“What’s wrong?” Sarah could hear the worry in his voice.
“There’s a pickup truck behind me driving really close,” Sarah said, twisting in her seat to get a better look. The headlights were blinding. “Gabe.” Sarah’s voice rose in alarm.
“Just let him pass you,” Gabe urged. “Pull over to the side and let him pass.”
“I can’t,” Sarah said, gripping the steering wheel more tightly. “There’s nowhere to pull over, and if I go any slower, he’s going to ram into me. I’m hanging up.” Sarah disconnected.
The vehicle crept closer and Sarah revved the engine and the car leaped forward with a roar. The truck followed suit, tapping the back bumper. Sarah screamed and overcorrected, causing the car to veer across the centerline. Her phone began buzzing incessantly. Gabe, she knew, calling her back. She struggled to get control and managed to pull back to the right side of the road. Again, the truck surged forward, this time crashing into her bumper, and then tore past her. Sarah screamed again, losing control of the steering, and the car careened off the road and bucked down a small embankment, plunging into a cornfield that had yet to be harvested. The sky above her disappeared and all Sarah could see were cornstalks whipping wildly against the windshield with a rapid thunk, thunk. She frantically pressed her foot down and the screech of the brakes filled her ears and her body strained against her seat belt as the car came to an abrupt stop.
Then all was still. Stunned, Sarah mentally checked her body for injuries. She was numb. Slowly she moved her neck, looking side to side. Sarah then tried to lift her arms. Pain pulsed through her right shoulder and she groaned, clenching her teeth against the pain. What the hell just happened? she asked herself. Someone just ran me off the goddamn road, she thought. But who? Why? Why would anyone want to hurt her?
She felt the passenger seat for her phone but couldn’t find it. Was it safe to get out of the car? The truck had flown past her as she left the road but that didn’t mean whoever was driving wasn’t waiting for her up there somewhere. Sarah unclicked her seat belt and, with effort, pushed open the car door. Sarah winced at the pain in her shoulder as she stepped out onto the even soil.
Sarah reached back into the car and rooted around until she found her cell. She steadied herself against the open car door and dialed 9-1-1. A man’s voice answered and with a trembling voice she explained that her car had been run off Highway 32 somewhere south of Penny Gate, and no, she didn’t need an ambulance but a police officer would be helpful.
“Jesus, Sarah,” Gabe said when she called him back. “Are you okay?”
“A truck just ran me off the road,” Sarah said as she picked her way through the corn, trying to follow the path created by the car. “I’m okay, though. Just stay on the line with me until the police arrive.”
Though it seemed that she had traveled much farther, the road was only about a hundred yards from where the car was stranded. Sandpaper-rough stalks of corn brushed against her arms, her high heels sinking into the earth. Sarah thought of the two hunters she met on the gravel road. Had they somehow tracked her down and been the ones to send her into the cornfield? Sarah held her sore right arm close to her body as she tripped through the tall grass that ran along the side of the highway. By the time she reached the asphalt, she was breathing heavily and sweating despite the chill in the air.
With the sprawling fields behind her and the wide-open road in front of her, Sarah felt too exposed. She stepped back into the shadows of the fiel
d, afraid that whoever was driving the truck might come back, but fearful of what might be lurking in the shadows of the corn.
Gabe maintained a steady stream of chatter, trying to calm her nerves, but Sarah could only respond briefly, her attention drawn to each rustle of leaves, to every movement caught in the corner of her eye. It was with relief when fifteen minutes later she saw the flashing lights of a sheriff’s car approaching.
The deputy pulled up to the side of the road, stepped from his vehicle and approached Sarah cautiously. He was heavyset and middle-aged and he walked toward her sluggishly, as if dragging his own weight. “He’s here, Gabe. I’ll call you later,” Sarah said, and then hung up.
“Are you the one who called in the accident?” the deputy asked.
“Yes, thank God you’re here. Someone ran me off the road,” Sarah said frantically. “They came out of nowhere. My car’s down there.” He shone his flashlight in the direction that Sarah was pointing, illuminating the flattened corn that disappeared into the darkness.
“Are you okay? Are you sure you don’t need an ambulance?”
Sarah rotated her shoulder; it ached, but she didn’t think anything was broken or torn. “No, I’m fine, but I think someone did this to me on purpose.”
“Why don’t you take a seat in here,” the deputy invited, walking her back to his car and opening the back door, “get you warmed up.”
She gave her statement to the deputy, though she didn’t have much to offer. She couldn’t give him a description of the vehicle that had run her off the road, except that it was probably a pickup truck, and couldn’t describe the driver. “Uh-huh,” the deputy said in a way that Sarah was sure meant that he didn’t quite believe her version of events.
“Have you been drinking tonight, ma’am?” he asked.
“No, not at all. I just came from a wake,” Sarah insisted.
“Do you have any idea who would want to run you off the road?” he asked, looking down at her over the top of his glasses.
Sarah thought about telling him the truth. That she had been secretly investigating the murder of her mother-in-law and had found a connection, thin as it might be, between that murder and the death of Julia Quinlan. And now someone had just tried to kill her. The deputy would think she was out of her mind. No, she needed to wrap her head around all of it before she dared to utter her suspicions out loud to someone besides Margaret or Gabe.
The deputy looked at her expectantly.
“No.” She shook her head. “I don’t know who would do this.”
“Maybe just some kids out joyriding or someone who had one too many drinks tonight,” the deputy said congenially. “But without a description of the truck or a license plate number, it will be pretty tough to find them. How far back do you think your car is?” he asked, nodding toward the field.
“Not far,” Sarah said. She needed to call someone. If the deputy couldn’t retrieve the car, someone would probably need to come get her. Jack came to mind first. Funny, she thought, even with all the suspicions and distrust, he was still the first person she thought of calling in an emergency. “Can I call my husband?” Sarah asked. “He’ll be worried that I’m not back yet.”
“Go right ahead. You stay here and I’ll go see if I can drive your car out. Hopefully we won’t need a tow truck.” Sarah handed the deputy her car keys and he shut the door, locking her in the back of his car.
Sarah watched as the deputy was swallowed up into the cornfield. A fist of anxiety planted itself firmly in her chest. What if whoever ran her off the road was still nearby? What if the deputy didn’t come back out? She made three attempts at reaching Jack with no luck. In frustration she left him a message. “Jack, please call me. I’ve been in an accident. I’m fine. I’m not hurt, but I need you to call me. Please, it’s urgent.”
Relief poured through her when the deputy finally emerged from the field and managed to maneuver her car through the ditch and back up onto the road. He stepped from the vehicle, circled the car, examining it for damage, and snapped a few pictures using a digital camera that he pulled from his car.
He opened the car door, releasing Sarah from the confines of the backseat, and handed her the keys. “Looks like you got quite a bit of damage to your back bumper, but it drives just fine. I doubt there was much if any damage to the truck that did this to you, though. I’ll call the farmer whose field this belongs to, let him know that a few ears of corn won’t make it to harvest.”
“Thank you,” Sarah said, slowly easing herself from the backseat. Her shoulder twinged painfully.
“Where are you headed?” the deputy asked. “I’ll follow you and make sure you get to where you’re going okay.”
“Thanks. I can’t seem to contact my husband...” Sarah’s shoulder throbbed and tears pricked at her eyes. Maybe she was hurt more than she thought. “I’m staying at Dean and Celia Quinlan’s home.”
“I know just where that is. Go ahead and I’ll follow you.” The deputy watched as Sarah got into her car and then pulled onto the road behind her.
When they arrived at the house, Sarah thanked the deputy and walked up the porch steps to the front door. She turned and waved to let him know that she would be okay. He lifted his hand in return and waited until she was safely inside and then rumbled away.
Sarah pushed open the front door and quietly shut it behind her. She followed the soft voices coming from the kitchen but stopped short, remaining unseen in the darkened hallway to listen.
“Is everything okay between you and Sarah?” Celia asked, her voice filled with concern. “She seems really uncomfortable being here.”
“She’s had a lot come at her in the past few days,” Jack said, his voice laced with exhaustion. “I think she just wants to go home.”
“But you’re the one whose aunt died,” Celia protested. “It’s your sister who’s in trouble. You’re the one who has had to come home to the last place in the world you want to be.” Celia’s voice sounded indistinct, loose.
Sarah felt white-hot anger rise in her chest. She couldn’t believe that Jack and Celia were sitting in the kitchen talking about her. She waited for Jack to come to her defense. To say that of course Sarah was uncomfortable and tense staying in the home where his mother was murdered and his former girlfriend now lived. He remained silent.
“Do you remember the time when things were so bad at my house?” Celia asked. “We were, like, fourteen and my dad was out of control. I called you, crying, and you took your dad’s truck without asking and picked me up.”
Jack gave a low chuckle. “Yeah, we only got as far as Storm Lake before the highway patrolman stopped us. Our parents were pissed.”
“Do you ever wonder what would have happened,” Celia asked, “if we would have kept on driving?”
Sarah stepped from the shadows of the hallway, not wanting to hear Jack’s response, not wanting to hear him say that he wished things had turned out differently between him and Celia.
She found Jack and Celia sitting side by side at the kitchen table, heads close together, a bottle of vodka set on the table between them.
They both looked up, startled, when they heard her.
“Sarah,” Celia said a little too loudly, and Jack shushed her. “Sorry,” she giggled. “Sarah.” She lowered her voice. “Come join us. We’re just having a drink to celebrate the end of this god-awful day.”
“No, thanks,” Sarah said, trying to make sense of the scene in front of her.
“Oh, come on,” Celia urged. “It’s Grey Goose and cranberry juice, Jack’s favorite.” She was right, Sarah thought, cringing. It was his favorite drink. “Remember back in high school,” Celia said, her face only inches from Jack’s, her hand resting on his arm. “You would steal your dad’s vodka and I would smuggle cranberry juice out of my house.”
“Just a second, Ce
lia,” Jack said, standing and going to Sarah’s side. “Sarah, are you okay?”
“Where’s Dean?” Sarah asked. “Where’s Hal?”
“Sarah,” Jack said again, studying her carefully. “What happened to your arm?”
“I was in a car accident,” Sarah said, her voice cracking. “I’ve been trying to reach you for almost an hour. You wouldn’t answer your phone.”
Jack’s hand flew to his back pocket and he pulled out his phone and looked at the display. “Jesus, I’m sorry. What happened? Are you okay?”
“Sit here,” Celia said, rising from her seat unsteadily and then sitting back down. “Are you hurt?”
Sarah ignored Celia and looked to Jack. “My shoulder hurts.”
“Can you lift it?” Jack asked.
Sarah slowly lifted her arm and nodded.
“Was it a deer?” Celia asked, her words slightly slurred. “Lots of deer running across the roads this time of year.”
“It wasn’t a deer,” Sarah said sharply, looking at Celia. “Are you drunk?”
Celia choked back a laugh. “Maybe.” She pinched her thumb and index finger together. “Just a little bit, though.”
“What happened?” Jack asked.
“I was driving here from the church. A truck came flying up behind me and hit my bumper.” Sarah shivered at the memory of seeing the glaring headlights of the truck bearing down on her. “I went off the road and into a ditch. Ended up in a cornfield.”
Jack hurried into the living room and reappeared with a throw blanket and wrapped it gently around her shoulders. “Jesus. What happened to the other guy? Did he stop? How did you get home?”
Sarah shrugged the blanket away, irritated by Jack’s ministrations. “He didn’t stop. I called the sheriff’s department. I could drive the car, but it’s got a little damage.”
Jack tenderly brushed her hair behind her ears. “Don’t worry about that right now. Do you need to go to the hospital?”
“I’m fine. Jack, I tried to get ahold of you for an hour and I find you sitting here drinking. We have to talk.” She glanced at Celia and stopped. Sarah knew how crazy she’d sound if she started talking about the case files, the photos and silver charms. “When did you get here? I mean, after the wake, did you come straight here?” Sarah asked. Could it have been Jack who had run her off the road? Had he discovered that she was digging into his past? He definitely had access to a truck.